The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I added, "I don't know why we don't have any orange juice out. This is California, after all." I stopped talking. I was nervous around Bobby and decided to just wait and listen. It was something I was good at.

  He sat down at the end of the table across from Kenneth. "Coffee's fine by me. How'd you sleep last night, Jimmy?"

  The kid shrugged. "OK, I guess." Looking at me, he asked, "May I be excused, Uncle Nick?"

  I nodded. "Sure."

  He stood up, picked up his plate, and then stopped. "Do I take my plate into the kitchen?"

  I nodded again. "That's very polite of you. You can take it in and hand it to Mrs. Strakova or Ida."

  He nodded and solemnly carried his plate through the swinging door.

  "He's a good kid," I said.

  Kenneth nodded. "Takes after his mother."

  I grinned but didn't say anything. Looking at Bobby, I asked, "Did you find everything you wanted for breakfast?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I hadn't said anything.

  Bobby sighed dramatically. "Sure. It's fine."

  "Where are the gals?" I asked.

  Kenneth replied, "Lettie came by at 7:30 and took them out for breakfast and then off for some serious shopping."

  I said, "Don't forget, we're going out on the bay this afternoon at 1. Hopefully we can make it out to the bridge and back before the fog rolls in."

  Bobby was looking at his plate and shaking his head. He savagely bit into his toast and chewed it obnoxiously.

  Kenneth asked his brother, "Got something on your mind, there?"

  Bobby swallowed, looked at his brother, and said, "You know I'm only here for Dad, right?"

  In a very cool voice, Kenneth said, "You're also about to get another brother."

  Bobby slammed his fork onto his plate. "I don't want another brother." Looking over at me, he said, "I don't like you. I don't like Carter. I don't like who you are or how you live your lives. I don't like this house. I don't like anything about any of this."

  I sat there, not at all surprised. The big surprise had been that he'd agreed to fly out in the first place.

  "That's fine," I said. "You can move across the street and stay with my father and your dad. They've got two guest rooms. Or there are three hotels within walking distance." I crossed my arms and tried to keep my voice steady. "Up to you."

  He shook his head again. "You're so cool, aren't you?" He looked me up and down. "Lord of the manor. Or is it the lady bountiful? I can never tell with you faggots. You disgust me. I couldn't sleep last night because all I could think about was what was goin' on downstairs."

  Kenneth stood. "That's enough, Bobby. Let's get your things together because you're leaving."

  Bobby stood. "And you. You're practically one of 'em. You let your kid sleep just down the hall from the two of them." He pointed at me. "How do you know they didn't go after him? He's just an innocent kid." Bobby wiped away the tears.

  "What goes on here?" That was my father. I looked up to see him standing in the great room with Ed. I hadn't heard them come in. Although we lived there, the house was in his name. He sometimes didn't bother to ring the doorbell.

  Bobby turned and looked at his father. "Dad, you know the only reason I'm here is for you. But I don't know how you expect me to stay in this house. I told you that Peggy and I could put up in a hotel but you wanted me to stay here, to get to know my new brothers." When he said the last two words, it was with a sneer.

  I looked at my father, who was turning red. Suddenly, I felt as if I was standing outside in the garden, looking in through the windows. I felt sorry for Bobby. If my father let loose, Bobby was going to wish he'd never said anything.

  Ed said, "What's the problem, Bobby?"

  "They're faggots. You know what that means."

  I suddenly wondered where Jimmy was. Kenneth, apparently, had the same thought because he ran into the kitchen.

  "No, Bobby, I don't know what that means because it's none of my business."

  Bobby crossed his arms. He suddenly appeared to be about 12. I halfway expected him to stamp his foot. He looked over at me. "How can you tolerate this, Dad?"

  My father, who was still red in the face, said, "Nicholas, I need to speak with you." He turned and walked towards the front door. I followed him as he walked into the office. "Close the door, Nicholas."

  I did as he said. "Father—"

  He put up his hand. Taking out his handkerchief, he began to wipe his eyes. I didn't realize he'd been crying.

  I walked over and pulled him into my arms, something I'd only rarely ever done. I patted him on the back in the same way that Ed had done with me a few times. "It's OK," I said.

  "No, Nicholas, it's not."

  I patted him on the back again and then let him go. "I don't think this has anything to do with me or Carter. Bobby's upset about my mother."

  Looking up at me in surprise, my father wiped his face again and then put his handkerchief back in his pocket. "Is that so?"

  I nodded. "Kenneth and Michelle told me that Bobby was very close to his mother. And, then, when she died and my mother came along..." My voice cracked a little. I cleared my throat. "Well, he really loved her."

  "She was a great—" He stopped. "I don't have any right to say anything." Walking over to where my grandfather's old desk was pushed up against Carter's desk, my father picked up a pencil and looked at it. "I've been talking with Ed over these last few days about Alexandra." That was my mother's name. "I'm beginning to realize what a true ass I was. The woman he describes is like the woman I knew, but more beautiful and more generous and, certainly, more kind." He turned and looked at me. "I don't mean that she wasn't kind before, but I can see how when she finally got away from me, her true self emerged." He looked down at the floor for a moment.

  He then walked over to the display case that Carter had set up not long after we'd moved in. It had models of the different planes we owned, along with a model ship and a platinum lipstick case. Pointing at the lipstick, my father laughed. "That Carter of yours has a fine sense of humor."

  I laughed with him. "He sure does. He looked and looked for something that would stand in for the office building. He told me the idea came to him one day when we were walking down Post Street. He saw that case in the window at Gump's and then went back to get it by himself so I would be surprised."

  "He's a fine man. Kind. Decent. Generous. Just like your mother."

  I nodded. "And stubborn and a little too bossy at times."

  My father looked at me with a grin. "Yes, I have direct knowledge of that. Even if I didn't know his mother as well as I do, being picked up bodily in Grace Cathedral told me everything I really needed to know about the man." He was referring to the day of my sister's funeral. He'd arrived drunk and Carter had literally carried him into a small room where we'd talked things out a bit. That was the first glimmer I ever had of the man my father had become.

  "That was quite a day."

  My father nodded. "Yes, it was." He looked around the office. "I wish I would have come to my senses before your sister died. I wish I could have come to know her as I've come to know you."

  I nodded. "Me, too. I didn't know her very well, either."

  He looked at me in surprise. "I always assumed the two of you were thick as thieves."

  "Not after I went to live with Mike."

  He nodded and looked back at the case. "Yes, I suppose so."

  "The only time I ever spent with her was when we would get rip-roaring drunk."

  "Did she like Carter?"

  I nodded. "Very much."

  "Good. That's not much, but it does make me feel better."

  I thought for a moment. There was something I wanted to say but I wanted to make sure I said it the right way. "I hope you're not going to blame yourself..." That didn't sound right.

  He waved me off. "Save your breath, Nicholas." Using his fingers, he counted off. "There's Lettie, and Geneva, of course. Then there's Louise. And Ed. They
've all said the same thing, in their own way."

  "And they're all right."

  He sighed. "Forgiving oneself is, perhaps, the hardest thing to do. I have no right to say that. I have no right to complain. Certainly not to you, my dear boy." Looking over at me, he said, "I would have easily knocked that young man to the ground out there but I remembered Alexandra. Even though I didn't know about his affection for her, it was as if she was standing there. I could almost smell her old perfume." He sniffed. "I could hear her telling me to go to my office." He smiled. "That's what she would say when I was losing my temper with the staff, particularly that chauffeur we had at the end."

  I nodded. "Tony."

  "Yes, he was the one. Irritated me no end."

  I wanted to say something about Tony. He'd been the first man ever to be friendly to me. I'd had a crush on him but didn't know that's what it was. I suddenly realized that the reason my father didn't like Tony is that they were competing for my affection. That led to another thought. Had I turned my back on my father without knowing it? I wasn't ready to think about that, so I said, "You're not the first person to report smelling my mother's perfume."

  "How so?"

  "Bobby said he could smell it."

  "Balderdash."

  I laughed. "Balderdash?"

  To my surprise, he grinned. "I don't know why but on Monday, I remembered my father sitting in this very office telling off one of his employees and using that very word."

  "It's a good word. Kinda dusty."

  He coughed. "Well, that may be, but I assure you, your mother is not haunting this house."

  I smiled. "I agree with you. It's not what I would call a haunting. When you first met Ed, Carter and I both heard Janet laughing upstairs."

  My father shook his head. "Ridiculous."

  "Then explain this. Jimmy told Kenneth and me this morning about a pretty lady with long brown hair who told him a bedtime story last night about two children: Nicholas and Janet."

  That made my father think for a moment. "It couldn't be. Surely he must have heard those details from his parents."

  "I don't think so. Kenneth seemed to be as shaken by it as I was."

  "Well..."

  Right at that moment, I could smell a strong aroma. It was vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it. My father looked at me. "How could you...?"

  I looked at him. "Was that it?"

  "Yes."

  I held out my hands, turning them over to show him they were empty. "It wasn't me."

  He slowly nodded. Looking up at the ceiling. "Well, if it is you, Alexandra, all I can say is that I'm sorry."

  And, in that room, with all the windows closed and the door shut, a small breeze passed by me with that same fragrance. I looked at my father, who was as pale as a ghost himself. Right then, the office door banged open, making both of us jump.

  Carter stood there, looking at both of us, and asked with half a grin, "What the hell is going on in here?"

  My father came back to himself. "Young man, do you know how very rude it is to interrupt private conversations?"

  Carter nodded contritely. "Yes, sir. It's just that I got an amazing whiff of a lady's perfume and wondered if maybe my mother was trying on her wedding gown in here or something like that."

  Spreading out his arms, my father said, "Do you see any brides in this room?"

  Carter shook his head. "No, sir. I'm sorry." He began to back out.

  "Come in here, boy, and close the door."

  Carter stopped, looked at me, and then did as my father said.

  Walking up to Carter, my father offered his hand which Carter shook. "Thank you for being so good to us, my boy."

  Somewhat mystified, Carter said, "You're welcome, Dr. Williams."

  My father looked him up and down. "You're too big for me to embrace in the way that a father should do for his son, but know that's how I consider you. You are, indeed, my son. And I am very proud of you." Looking at me, he said, "Both of you."

  . . .

  Carter and my father were talking about President Eisenhower's heart attack when there was a knock on the office door.

  I'd given Carter a brief rundown of what Bobby had said. We'd decided to stay in the office until we got the all-clear signal.

  I walked to the door and opened it.

  Ed smiled weakly. "May I come in?"

  I stepped back and said, "Sure. How's it going out there?"

  Ed walked up to my father and asked, "Would it be OK with you and Lettie if Bobby and Peggy stayed in your other guest room until Sunday?"

  My father nodded and said, "Of course. You'll have to warn him not to talk like that around Lettie."

  Ed grinned. "I already did. They're going to leave on Sunday morning. Bobby's going to take care of that on his own." Turning to me, he said, "If it's OK with you, Kenneth and Michelle want to stay through Wednesday, just like they'd planned."

  I nodded. "Of course. And we can fly Bobby—"

  Ed held up his hand. "Nope. We've all been coddling him for far too long."

  My father said, "If you don't mind, Ed, may I say a word on Robert's behalf?"

  Ed nodded. "Of course, Parnell."

  "Nicholas pointed out to me that Robert may very well still be mourning both Alexandra's death and that of his mother."

  Taking in a deep breath, Ed said, "I know. But he has to do something." Pointing at me, he said, "And he has no right to talk to Nick that way."

  I shrugged. "We've heard a lot worse than that."

  "No, Nick," said Ed. "Not from family."

  Carter grimaced. "Oh, yes. From my own mother."

  Ed stopped at that. "Well, that was a while ago. You didn't—" He stopped, put his hand on his mouth, and frowned. "I see what you mean."

  Carter nodded. "She's changed. More than you could ever imagine."

  Ed looked down at the display case for a long moment. Suddenly he laughed. "Oh, now I get it. A lipstick case for the building." Looking up at Carter, he said, "That must have been your idea."

  My father said, "I've told you about all my tomfoolery. I doubt that Nicholas, just two years ago, could have imagined all of us standing here having this conversation." He pulled out his pipe and a leather pouch. As he began to put tobacco in the pipe, he said, "I wouldn't have believed it myself, I was so angry inside. And, do you know why I was angry?" He looked at Ed intently.

  "No."

  "Because I thought everyone had left me. But, in reality, I had left everyone else." He put his pipe in his mouth but didn't light it immediately. "I had kicked my son out into the street, taken him to court because he got the money I believed was mine, and then ignored my own daughter when she drifted away. I was an old man sitting in this big pile of rocks." He looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. "And it wasn't until this young man," he pointed his pipe at Carter, "picked me up and carried me off in front of half the City that I began to realize there might be a different way." He pulled a single match from his coat pocket and, to my astonishment, struck it against the side of my grandfather's desk. As he lit the tobacco, he said, "When Carter began to come by in the afternoons to play chess and talk, I began to come back to myself. I'd been in such a fog since Alexandra left. And I had no idea." He puffed on his pipe to get the flame going. "That's what grief does to you. It makes you blind." He puffed a couple of more times. "Your boy is grieving for his mother and for Alexandra."

  Ed nodded, looking blankly at the display case. "You're right, Parnell."

  "Besides," added my father with another puff. "I don't see Robert's wife, Margaret, around. Let's see what she has to say about sleeping over at our small apartment. It's not quite the same over there as here."

  Ed grinned and put his hand on my father's shoulder. "You've got a point there. Let's see what Peggy thinks."

  Chapter 19

  Aboard The Flirtatious Captain

  San Francisco Bay

  Friday, October 14, 1955

  Half past 1 in the afternoonr />
  "So, how was the shopping this morning?" I was talking with Peggy and Michelle. We were standing in the aft section of the ship as it moved around the Ferry Building.

  Michelle sighed. She was holding a glass of Burgie in her right hand, which was crossed over her left arm. "It's been a long time since I've been able to buy anything I wanted." She took a sip of her beer.

  Peggy, who was beginning to warm up a bit, added, "I've never been able to do that. I grew up in a little North Carolina town and we had the one dress shop on Main Street."

  "And how was it running around town with Lettie and Louise?"

  Michelle laughed. "And Miss Velma and Miss Geneva. Those four are a riot. I think most of the stores we went into..." She looked at me. "What's the one that's all French?"

  "City of Paris?"

  "They opened early for us. Can you believe that?"

  I nodded. "Marnie's in-laws work there."

  She said, "Yes. I met her mother-in-law. Such a doll. She helped us. There was also an older French gentleman. He was very polite and kissed our hands."

  Peggy giggled. "Yes. It was something else."

  "That was probably Mr. Veladier. He's the owner. I think his grandfather was the one who founded the store back in 1850 or so."

  Peggy said, "I've never seen anything like it. It was so beautiful."

  Right then, Carter came around the port side with a couple of bottles of Burgie he'd gone to get for us from the lounge. Handing one of them to me, he said, "Well, everyone in there is having a good time. They're telling stories on us, Nick."

  I laughed and had a sip. "Who's in there?"

  "Well, the Four Terrors—"

  "What?" asked Michelle, looking very amused.

  Carter said, "That's the name Nick uses for Lettie, Geneva, Aunt Velma, and my mother."

  Michelle and Peggy looked at each and burst out laughing. Michelle said, "That's just perfect." She looked at me. "Because they are, aren't they?"

  I nodded and took another swig. "Yeah." Looking at Carter, I asked, "Who else?"

  "Your father, Ed, and Mr. Walters."

  I nodded. Theodore Walters was a local fisherman who'd done well for himself. He had met Aunt Velma back in the summer and they have been going out. From what I could tell, it was getting serious.